Half-Boy Who Lived
by ArcanePracti-cat
Summary: Something happened to 6-year-old Harry one evening as he was slaving away in the garden. He thought nothing of it, being too young and exhausted to recall it as anything other than another strange dream. But years later at Hogwarts, a shocked Snape has his eye on the boy... because Harry is no longer human. He's half-vampire. Snape/Harry; some myst/rom; on hold til 23rd Nov. -ish
1. Chapter 1 - Nightmare and Letter

Chapter 1: Nightmare and Letter

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[Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Good ol' JK does. I just read it to bits is all.]

A/N:

Welcome to my first Harry Potter story. Enjoy.

Bits may seem a little like the books at first as the story is loosely based around the cannon plots, but it will definitely become more different. Also, this chapter lays a bit of the foundation for the Harry in this story; there's a bit less conversational-type dialogue. And Snape doesn't show up yet in this chapter.

Carry on!

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[Chapter 1 start]

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Exhaustion. Struggling feebly, a pair of hands grabbing him, pulling him roughly to their owner's chest. Black and red blurred together across his vision. Cruel whispers, sharp pain on his neck; the hands' release, the ground rushing up to meet him, the numb empty feeling spreading to his outer limbs. Icy-cold, metalic liquid at his lips, running down his throat, choking him. Fire running through his veins, burning like acid. Darkness, a falling sensation, down and down, a sudden overwhelming flash of red, seeing the dark sky overhead through a haze...

Loud banging on the cupboard door awoke Harry from his nightmare with a start.

"Get up, boy! Up! NOW!" yelled Aunt Petunia before her footsteps receded back down the hall to the kitchen.

Harry sighed. He was feeling lethargic, not at all like getting up and struggling through another day. Lying in the cramped but cozy darkness of his cupboard, he sighed again, and recalled his nightmare. It was one of many he'd been having over and over recently. One of the others was about a big man on a flying motorcycle, and another depicted a green light, screaming voices, and a cold, insane laughter.

He wasn't allowed to talk about the dreams. The mere mention of anything "abnormal" sent the Dursleys into fits of anger, usually directed at him. His uncle Vernon would turn red and start blustering, shouting things like, "MOTORCYCLES CAN'T FLY!" as if that wasn't completely obvious.

Sometimes Harry would feel amused at his uncle looking like a tomato with a mustache (at least until he was shut in his cupboard without dinner).

Hearing his aunt's footsteps clacking in the kitchen, and not wanting them to return for another session of banging, Harry forced himself to get dressed. He stumbled out into the hallway in a raggedy, baggy, gray T-shirt (3 sizes too big at least) and dirty, torn trousers (also too big).

Harry was below average in height, very pale, and very thin – whether this was malnourishment, as it could very well be, or just his natural structure, he was not sure; he'd never had enough food to really test this out.

Heading to the kitchen, his bare feet treading silently on the polished floors (which he himself had had to polish last week- twice), Harry pushed all thoughts of his odd dream out of his mind. Now he had to start the day's long list of grueling chores, the first of which included making breakfast (not that he was allowed to eat any).

Aunt Petunia supervised him like a vulture to make sure he didn't sneak any food as he cooked copious amounts of bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs (yum), baked beans, toast, and hash browns (gross), and cut up a large bowl of fruit salad (double gross). Harry worked swiftly and silently, used to cooking such meals quickly and efficiently every day.

After breakfast, which Harry spent waiting in the kitchen and hoping there was some left over, he was to clean. Not just breakfast dishes, but a hardy deep clean of the whole house. He did this every other day. Other chores included yard work, small carpentry tasks, and anything else the Dursleys think of to pile on him.

On these particular days Harry was oddly glad for the chore, as it meant he didn't have to go outside. He didn't like the sun. I didn't hurt, really, but it made him tired and gave him a headache. He liked cloudy, windy days, but dreaded clear skies because it meant working beneath direct, bright light.

Harry never gave this much thought, as perhaps it was usual of kids who were frequently locked in cupboards. He simply didn't like sunlight; no big deal, as long as he could still react quickly enough to avoid his cousin Dudley and his cronies.

Other than the aversion to sunlight, Harry was quite strong and skillful, all things considering. He was skilled with work tools, cooking, gardening, and cleaning. He found he could lift many heavy materials when he had to cart around the Dursley's luggage on the rare occasions that they went anywhere and brought him along.

The only other odd thing was that Harry didn't really like foods other than meats. They didn't appeal to him, and also didn't seem to keep him full as well. He would take what he could get, though; even eating bread and peels was better than starving, no contest. He could deal with a bit of perpetual hunger.

This morning he was lucky; Aunt Petunia let him eat the leftover scrambled eggs as well as the scant remaining baked beans. As he was scrubbing the kitchen tile floor, feeling a bit less hungry than usual, he remembered something – three days was his eleventh birthday.

He chucked to himself, because really, this was no big deal. It's not like the Dursleys really celebrated his birthday; the most he'd ever gotten was a coat hanger, and, in the first year of primary school, a pair of glasses their neighbor, Ms. Figg, must have been throwing out.

"What are you laughing at, boy?" snarled Uncle Vernon. He'd seen the small smile on Harry's face at the "fond memories."

"Nothing, sir," Harry replied, and went back to scrubbing a small oil spot on the floor.

Later in the day, Uncle Vernon ordered Harry to get the mail, as per usual. Dudley laughed as Harry tripped over his outstretched foot when he went by. Scowling, Harry went out to the mail box. He retrieved the handful of letters, squinting as he checked to see that the addresses were correct.

The moment he was inside the door, he stopped. He couldn't believe it.

_No way..._ he thought. _A letter... addressed to me!_

"Number 4 Privet Drive, The cupboard under the stairs..." Harry muttered as he turned the letter over to see the odd wax seal. "But how'd they know my cupboard?"

"BOY! WHERE ARE YOU WITH THE MAIL? BRING IT HERE!" roared Uncle Vernon.

Harry swiftly entered the sitting room to deliver the other mail, unwittingly still holding his letter in plain sight. Dudley came into the room and, before Harry could hide it, spotted the letter.

"Dad! Dad, Harry's got something!" exclaimed Dudley, his pig-like eyes wide. Harry quickly tried to retreat from the room, only to be faced with his aunt in the doorway.

Although he was usually able to avoid the lunges that accompanied blows, Harry was unprepared for Aunt Petunia's quick snatch. "Hey!" he started, before quieting under her sharp glare.

Aunt Petunia looked at the seal and paled. She turned the letter over and read the front, and promptly had to sit down on the couch. Harry watched with fascination as Aunt Petunia showed the letter to Uncle Vernon, who turned tomato-red.

Dudley and Harry were loudly and abruptly sent from the room, and Harry dodged Dudley's flailing limbs as the later protested bodily. When the sitting room door was firmly closed, Harry didn't bother to fight Dudley to listen at the key hole – he could hear some of the conversation on his own if he was still.

"-came at last. Those blasted- unnatural-"

"-won't let him go. Freaks like that _sister _of mine-"

"-addressed to the cupboard? Are they watching us? Perhaps we should move the boy-"

That last statement was something Harry wondered for himself. It was very unusual in and of itself for anyone to write in the first place, seeing as he didn't have any friends; for the mysterious writer to know his cupboard was... curious.

When Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia came out, they ordered Harry to move into Dudley's second bedroom, much to his cousin's shock and anger. Despite Dudley's protests, Harry still moved his few possessions into the second bedroom.

He felt rather pleased, although a bit shocked, as he lowered the solitary window shade, as he'd never had a bed before that he could fully stretch out on; the cupboard was cramped. It was also amusing to hear Dudley still carrying on in his room, breaking who knows what.

Later, he even got a rather decent lunch; there were more leftovers than usual, and Aunt Petunia even put them on a single plate for him instead of making him rummage through the mound of dishes for bits and pieces. Harry ate speedily, still unsure if it was all a trick or not.

Harry was surprised and suspicious of the sudden... generosity... of the Dursleys; they had never been anything but unpleasant towards him, and even violent, before this blatant attempt at a semblance of kindness. He suspected that the letter was to blame – not that he was doing any blaming. He was deeply curious as to what it said, and was outraged at how they took what was clearly supposed to be his, but he liked getting more at meals (and in fact getting them at all). He was tired of feeling hungry all the time.

Harry did his chores quietly and was careful not to anger the Dursleys for the rest of the day, in case they changed their minds. Dudley was sulking, so it was easy to avoid him, and Uncle Vernon went in to work for a few hours. Aunt Petunia seemed to be avoiding HIM, so that made it very easy to spend the rest of the day just working and thinking.

He daydreamed about his parents coming to take him away when he was younger. He knew it was unlikely now, so instead he thought more about his recurring dreams and nightmares. Who was that large man on the bike? He seemed familiar. Who was the woman, the one who screamed in the dreams with the green light? Why did the blurry nightmare he had the past night seem so horrible when he could not even remember it clearly, and why did he keep dreaming slightly different scenes each time?

He could only speculate wildly, as there was no way of getting these answers. He definitely wouldn't be able to get any answer from the Dursleys, as that might also ruin his prospects at getting more regular meals.

Later in the evening, at dinner, the Dursleys actually saved him a whole slice of the roast (yum), albeit a small one, as well as a potato and even a teeny bit of gravy. Harry ate rapidly again.

He cleaned up and started getting ready for bed. He looked forward to trying out the larger mattress and the actual pillows and blankets – he had used bundled clothes as a pillow in the cupboard.

As he lay on the bed to go to sleep, Harry wondered how long this bout of kindness would last. He hoped he wasn't dreaming. He took a while to settle down to sleep; for some reason darker rooms made him more awake. On top of that, there were many thoughts running around in his mind, the most prominent being about the letter and sender. He hoped the sender would send something else at some point, however unlikely that would be.

Harry's last thought before succumbing to his dreams – and nightmares – was: _I wonder what that wax seal meant... what's "Hogwarts?"_

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A/N:  
What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2 - Letters and a Friend

Chapter 2: Letters and a Friend

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[Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Good ol' JK does. I just read it to bits is all.]

A/N:  
Well, here's the second chapter. This particular chapter is still pre-Hogwarts; Vernon freaks about the obviously not normal letters a bit more and Harry makes a friend.

Here goes!

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[Chapter 2 start]

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A jolt of pain in Harry's forehead awoke him very early the next morning, when the first rays of sunlight still had yet to peek above the horizon. His scar, a thunderbolt-shaped mark on the right side of his forehead, prickled strangely. The house was fast asleep, its other occupants snoring in the next rooms over. Panting quietly and laying back on his pillow, Harry remembered what had woken him. He'd had another strange dream.

This one was different. It had the screaming woman in it; but this time she wasn't screaming – she was smiling lovingly at him. A tall man stood by her side; he had dark hair, glasses, and a proud grin. Then the dream froze. The woman's mouth moved, and her voice was what caused Harry to wake with such a start.

It wasn't a woman's voice that emanated from her mouth. It was a man's; a cold, smooth, mysterious voice that ached of familiarity yet was incredibly dark, bone-chilling, and bizarre. The dream broke abruptly and Harry's forehead gave a twinge, and the words – just two – floated in his mind as he lay in his new bed.

_"Prepare yourself."_

He frowned. As he lay there, the clarity of the dream faded, although he still remembered the words just fine. They echoed almost like a warning... but that's not right; it was just a dream. ...Right?

Harry rolled over to go back to sleep for the hour or two before the Dursleys woke up. There was no point in fussing over some dream, however odd, when he could still catch some shut-eye. Rubbing his forehead and thinking back to the odd letter from the previous day, Harry drifted off once more.

Later that morning, the banging that had been his wake up alarm for the years he had lived in the cupboard sounded again on the door to his new room.

"Get UP, boy! Downstairs!" came the curt voice of Aunt Petunia through the wood. "NOW!" she added, sounding irritated. (Although no more so than usual.)

Harry groaned and rolled out of bed, avoiding the patch of light that seeped through the shade on his window. He quickly pulled his baggy, ragged clothes on and headed silently down to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Over the years Harry had learned not to talk too much in the morning, if at all. Uncle Vernon was worse tempered than usual when he'd just woken up. As it was, Harry merely got a glare directed mostly at his unruly hair as he went by the living room, which was much less than usual. Harry suspected that maybe the letter had had a longer affect than he'd thought it would have.

Again, he wondered who it was from that it could make the Dursleys almost... civil. Or at least ignore him much more than usual, which he'd take over random knocks about the head and nasty, insulting remarks any day.

After breakfast, Harry was supposed to go outside; today's list had a lot of yard work. However, as he reached for the door knob, 10 letters abruptly shot through the mail slot in the front door one after the other. Immediately, Aunt Petunia – who'd been watching Harry to make sure he went outside – called to Uncle Vernon, who thundered into the hall and began rushing around to snatch them up before Harry could get at one.

_Those are the same as the one from yesterday_! thought Harry excitedly, recognizing the thicker parchment. He briefly saw the address of one as he reached to pick it up, and was shocked to see that it was addressed not to the cupboard under the stairs anymore, but to "the smallest bedroom." Uncle Vernon swiped it up before he could get it and held it with the others.

"Those are MY letters!" Harry yelled at him, too curious and frustrated to hold his tongue anymore. "Give me one! They're addressed to ME!"

"THERE ARE NO LETTERS!" bellowed Uncle Vernon angrily. His face turned that tomato red color. "AND THEY WOULD NOT BE YOURS IF THERE WERE ANY! NOW OUT! OUT!" His mustache jumped around and spittle landed on Harry's face.

Harry found himself out in the yard and heard the door slam behind him. Scowling furiously and fuming, he stood there for a moment, trying to calm himself. After a moment, he turned and marched over to the garden.

His tasks were weed, water, and plant in the garden, mow the lawn and then rake the grass clippings, fix part of the fence and paint the whole thing, and set up a heavy stone birdbath that Aunt Petunia had just bought. He would be not allowed back inside until the chores were completed. It was actually less than usual (_It must be because of those letters again,_ thought Harry) but it still felt like a lot as the sun beat down on him.

He was getting a headache already as he knelt down and began to weed, systematically crawling and yanking up the offending plants. He pushed back the discomfort though and ignored it, having well gotten used to dealing with pain from all his years of experience (including Dudley and his crew "Harry Hunting"). He definitely couldn't complain to the Dursleys about just a headache or being tired.

Harry thought for a moment that the especially sunny day was still getting to him though regardless, because he suddenly heard a little hissing voice.

_"Human boy pulling up the plantsss... why isss human boy pulling plantsss?"_

Harry frowned, looking around him. There was no one nearby; the voice seemed to come from nowhere.

_"Sssilly humansss eating plantsss... volesss tassste better."_

Looking over to a nearby plant, Harry was startled to see a rather large snake coiled up and looking at him. At least, it had its head raised and was flicking its tongue at Harry. It was a bit over 2 feet long. Its scales were a dark-grey-green, and down its back was a pattern of dark, shiny diamond markings. It was an adder. Harry frowned, confused.

"Did you just talk?" he asked it, feeling a little foolish. He was startled when the snake raised its head more and seemed to be taken aback, if snakes could look taken aback.

_"You ssspeak?"_ came a hissing voice. It seemed surprised, and sounded male, although Harry had never heard a snake before and couldn't be certain. A thin black tongue flicked out at him.

"I could ask you the same thing... I didn't know snakes could talk. Am I just going crazy?" Harry asked it in return, astonished and still wondering if the sun was getting to him.

_"You ssspeak! I am young, but every sssnake knowsss that humansss cannot ssspeak. You are ssspecial. And you have an odd ssscent,"_ hissed the adder, and began to slither over. Harry stared at it as it stopped and looked up at him again, its tongue tasting the air around him.

_How... ironic,_ thought Harry. _The first time I've ever been told I'm special that I can remember, and it's by a snake._

"Well, I've never spoken to anyone other than other humans before, so I didn't know," Harry told the snake, crouching down farther. "And by the way, the weeds aren't for eating; the Dursleys make me do chores, and this is one of them."

_"I sssee. Volesss tassste deliciousss,"_ advised the snake. It seemed pleased at the mention of rodents. Harry smiled.

"So you've said. I'll take your word on that. But aren't adders usually smaller?" inquired Harry. "How are you so big?"

_"I am not sssure..."_ muttered the snake uneasily. _"I have alssso yet to reach the end of my growing phassse. I hope I ssstop growing soon; I'm already unable to fit in my burrow."_

Harry frowned. He reasoned that if his new friend couldn't fit in its burrow, it was in danger of being caught and killed. Therefore... he did the logical thing. (In his mind anyway.)

"Would you like to live with me? I mean, it's inside and all, but if you stay near me and out of sight, you'd be reasonably safe," offered Harry nervously. The snake looked amused. "Er, that is, the Dursleys wouldn't notice because they never pay attention to me, so they'd never see you, I mean, if you want to, I don't know if you'd want to, the Dursleys are pretty awful, but if you can't fit in your burrow..." Harry stopped as a quiet hiss – laughter? – came from the snake.

_"You are indeed interesssting, Ssspeaker... I wouldn't mind ssstaying with you."_ Harry smiled, delighted._ "And I'll bite any Dursleysss humansss if they try to messs with me,"_ the adder added smugly.

Harry laughed. "It'd be best if you didn't bite anyone, they'd still kill you anyway; but it's a nice thought," he said. "Oh, by the way, my name is Harry, not Speaker. Do you have a name? And are you a girl or a boy?" he asked curiously.

_"You may choossse me a name... Harry. And I am a male."_ The snake eyed Harry, the later thinking.

"How about Hebijin?" asked Harry after a moment. "I can call you just Hebi for short." (*)

The adder uncoiled and slithered right onto Harry's lap._"Sssounds awesssome,"_ Hebi hissed, pleased. Harry grinned as Hebi then slithered up his baggy shirt to coil loosely around his small neck, glad for once that his overly large second-hand clothes hid the snake nicely when he was settled underneath the collar.

Harry was glad to have his first real friend, and over the next handful of hours he talked with Hebi and finished the rest of his yard chores. He talked about himself and his life with the Dursleys, like how he used to live in a cupboard under the stairs until yesterday, when the odd letters came. Hebi in turn told him a little about a snake's life – a bit boring in Harry's opinion, except he laughed when Hebi told him about the vole he ate once that tasted really bad. _"I almossst wanted to ssspit it out; it felt ssstrange asss it went down,"_ Hebi hissed.

The sun didn't seem nearly as exhausting as usual when he had a friendly snake whispering in his ear. He discovered that Hebi had a sense of humor, although he wasn't quite used to human references, and that he was curious about human life.

When the afternoon was getting on, Harry finally finished his outdoor chores. He turned to go inside. Before he did, he whispered to Hebi. "Just don't make any sounds or show yourself, and they won't notice a thing. They're kind of thick. But be extra careful around Aunt Petunia just in case."

_"Don't worry about me, Harry,"_ hissed Hebi. _"And I can ssstill bite them for you if you like..."_ Harry smiled – his new friend had been indignant on his behalf when he'd described their unfair treatment of him – but refused the offer. "Where would I get my oversized shirts for you to hide under if you did anything to the Dursleys?" he joked.

They went up to the door and Harry calmed himself, putting on a face of exhaustion (not hard to fake) so the Dursleys wouldn't think to give him more chores because he was smiling at all. He took off his dirt-covered shoes and knocked them together to shake off loose dirt, and then entered.

He hurried into the bathroom for a quick wash up. The only times the Dursleys "wasted water on the boy" besides for drinking water was when Harry was covered in dirt or paint, as he was now in both. Aunt Petunia freaked out if he tracked any dirt on the floors or got paint on a rug (although HE had to clean them, so he didn't know why she was complaining) and grudgingly allowed him a 5-minute shower after he did yard work.

He hid Hebi underneath his clean set of clothes as he rinsed off so the unsuspecting Dursleys wouldn't accidentally stumble across the poisonous snake now living with them. When he got dressed, he settled Hebi around his neck again.

The snake hissed a complaint about the scent of Aunt Petunia's perfumes and makeup. _"Sssmellsss unnatural,"_ he said.

Harry could relate, as said as much. "Yeah, and it gets especially bad when we have company over; I could smell her all the way in my cupboard. I don't know why she thinks they'll want to smell her in the first place though."

After the Dursleys' dinner, Harry practically inhaled his own small bowl of stew and finger-sized piece of bread; he hadn't gotten any lunch earlier. (Not so say that he usually got any.) He asked Hebi between bites how often adders ate. The response was, _"A vole twiccce a day! ...however, I can go for over a week without if I mussst,"_ and Harry responded with, "Vole-obsessed glutton."

They chucked, Harry making sure that no one was within earshot. He added, "Well, I don't starve, but I don't get to eat much, as you can see. So I probably won't be able to feed you... um... you can hunt whenever I work outside – would that work?" Hebi hissed affirmatively, and Harry turned to clean up the dishes.

They went to bed after Harry cleaned up the kitchen and did laundry. Hebi had actually decided to sleep under the bed so Harry didn't accidentally roll on him during the night.

Then Harry realized he'd forgotten about the letters in the excitement of meeting his new friend. Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's reactions to the onslaught of letters made him even more determined to get a hold of one somehow. Harry went to sleep, planning to get up early. He figured the best time to get at the mail was when the rest of the family wasn't up yet. He'd sneak out of the house and wait for the mailman, and then he'd get his letter!

Snuggling down into his covers, he whispered good night to Hebi. _"Sssee you in the morning,"_ hissed the snake drowsily. Harry smiled and fell into the first peaceful slumber he'd had in a while.

There were no nightmares.

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A/N:

*Hebijin = Snake-god (japanese) (Hebi means snake)

By the way, I just wanted to let you all know: Harry's scar will not be tied exclusively to Voldemort, although mostly tied to him, of course. It may also twinge a small bit with something important or odd, like that dream for example.

And Hogwarts is coming soon, so don't you worry! (...if anyone was worried :P)

Thanks for reading. I'd love reviews~!


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